When Bots Die
by rainbowstarscream
Summary: When Transformers Prime Dreadwing dies, he is transported to the G1 universe and gets a second chance to exact his revenge, but he gets sidetracked when Cyclonus appears on the scene. Will he choose vengeance or his lover?
1. A New World

When Bots Die

Dreadwing felt the ion blast rip through his body for only a moment before the shock set in; giving him enough time to feel the pain of Megatron's betrayal. He was his second-in-command, but one look at those slender legs and his leader was back on Starscream's side. Even if Dreadwing had betrayed the Decepticons by bringing the forge of Solus Prime to the autobots, Starscream had assisted the autobots and attempted to assassinate Megatron countless times; hardly the ideal role model. Yet, it was Dreadwing whose spark was flickering out, while the slender grey flier escaped death for the umpteenth time.

Dreadwing hit the floor with a loud clang, and he used his last conscious thought to comfort himself with the thought that he would soon be with his brother in the Allspark. He nearly died peacefully, until the realization that Starscream had ultimately caused both of their deaths tainted the bright light and everything went black.

"Soldier!" a sharp voice roused Dreadwing.

The mech blinked his optics as if waking from a deep recharge; and noise erupted around him, causing his audio receptors to ring violently. Blaster fire ricocheted off of the rocks around him, and a grenade exploded close by; the bot that leaned over Dreadwing flinched in response.

"Where am I?" Dreading croaked out. He rubbed his head and tried to remember what had happened, but he drew a blank.

"Fighting the autobots—Megatron's master plan—any of this ringing a bell?" they grey mech was losing patience with Dreadwing, the large wings on his back twitching irritably.

"I'm on Cybertron?" the blue flier vaguely recalled his master's plan to use the Omega keys to revive their home planet, but he could not remember travelling through the space bridge. He must have hit his head harder than he had thought.

"We're just outside Autobot City numbskull; did an autobot knock your circuits loose?" the newcomer's voice grew impatient, "Come on!"

He held out his hand for Dreadwing and helped pull his mighty frame up until he was on his feet once more. The grey mech handed the dazed bot a gun and ordered him to shoot at anything that moved within the great fortress that rose up before him. Orange and purple energy blasts lit up the sky, and without time to fully assess his situation, he decided to trust the first cybertronian he encountered. He quickly took down every autobot in range, feeling no satisfaction from taking life. He moved on to where more of his "comrades" had gathered, although none were fighting. Six of them transformed, but instead of becoming individual vehicles, they combined into a massive bot that proceeded to bash at a door with both fists. Dreadwing had been so stunned that he had not noticed the autobot that crept up behind him and, as punishment for failing to check his surroundings, he was shot.

Surprisingly, the energon blast did little but to cause the plating on his shoulder to tingle uncomfortably. His assailant seemed as baffled as the flier was, and he fired a few more futile shots before dashing off.

"Let the slaughter begin!" a familiar voice shouted from close by, and Dreadwing watched as the giant green bot ripped into the orange metal door. What he assumed to be decepticons flooded into what he surmised was Autobot City, leaving only a boxy silver mech standing outside.

Dreadwing thundered over to where the rest of the bots had disappeared and went to follow them when the silver mech stopped him.

A black servo clamped down on his shoulder, "Who are you?" the raspy voice demanded.

Dreadwing started, "Megatron?"

In a flash, his death rushed back to him and a fresh wave of contempt washed through his mind; it took all of his strength not to wrap his capable hands around his leader's throat.

"Dreadwing," he said through gritted denta, clenching his hands into fists while his optics flashed menacingly. How could his leader not remember him?

"You seem like a capable warrior. You will accompany me and take on Optimus' most powerful soldiers, although they will be weak in comparison to the might of a decepticon."

It was an order, and Dreadwing's loyalty to Megatron ran deep, so he obeyed. The flier fell in behind his leader and was joined by a handful of dangerous looking mechs, all brandishing their own weapons of various shapes and sizes. They marched in silence, broken only by the sounds of war. The warriors fanned out to cover more ground and prevent any autobots from launching a surprise attack when they were so densely packed. However, before the decepticons had a chance to rip into any enemies, a red flat nose semi-truck barreled into the 'cons who took the rear, sending a handful of them flying. Dreadwing managed to dodge out of the way, but the truck transformed into a bot not unlike Optimus Prime and took down more adversaries with energy blasts, Dreadwing included. While this shot was more than just a tingle, it was still underpowered and only managed to make the bot grunt with discontent.

Meanwhile, the rest of his team was being taken down effortlessly by the new bot on the scene, and after taking out the decepticons, the red-and-blue mech pursued Megatron into a darkened room. Dreadwing was left to help the wounded up and drag the dead to the side; there would be time to bury them later.

The last mech Dreadwing assisted was the first cybertronian he had encountered in this strange place. He offered his clawed hand to his ally, which the winged bot took gratefully.

"I guess we're even, er," he searched his mind for a name to match the face of the mech before him.

"Dreadwing."

"Dreadwing? Never heard of you, but if you've made it this far, you've gotta be pretty good. The name's Astrotrain," his new friend now offered his own hand, this time to shake, which Dreading accepted.

An ion blast brought them abruptly back to reality, "Not the most proper time to be making friends," Dreadwing remarked.

Astrotrain acknowledged him with a smirk before proceeding to fire upon the autobot who had interrupted their conversation, swiftly extinguishing its spark.

"I'll crush you with my bare hands!" the gruff voice of Megatron roared from inside, tackling the Prime look-alike back into the light and onto the ground. The two bots grappled for a while, all other battles momentarily paused to witness them.

"Rip out Prime's spark, Megatron!" Astrotrain cheered on his leader, throwing his fists in the air enthusiastically.

"Optimus Prime?" Dreadwing asked skeptically—what were Optimus and Megatron doing here? Moreover, they didn't look like the autobot and decepticon leaders, not exactly anyways.

"Of course Optimus Prime, do you know any other primes?" Astrotrain mocked his acquaintance.

_Only the nameless Prime I helped out leader to desecrate,_ Dreadwing commented in his mind.

As the soldiers began to bore of their leaders' battle, they took up arms once again; death was still ripe in the air. Astrotrain nudged Dreadwing away from the quarrelling mechs and towards their own adversaries. Numerous autobots charged at Dreadwing, and he killed a handful of them with photon charges before he was forced to draw his blade, which he used to hack away at the throng, terminating autobots left and right.

Standing knee-deep in carcasses, Dreadwing became aware that Astrotrain was being overwhelmed by enemies; he was screaming out in unbridled terror. The blue mech immediately ran to his aid, letting out a war cry. Dreadwing sliced off the closest bot's arm, he had been grappling with Astrotrain, and his now severed arm lost its grip on his friend's wing. Energon spurted from the mech's stump, and the gore was enough to send him running, but the massive amount of energon leaking from his fresh wound made him falter. He fell quickly and his body greyed in a pool of his own life force.

His sword slashed effortlessly through the autobots' armor, and once Dreadwing had eliminated most of the bots surrounding his friend, Astrotrain resumed battle, clawing into the closest bot and ripping at the cables he found beneath armor. It was not the most efficient method of battle, but it did the job. Dreadwing trudged through the wreckage to stand beside his comrade; spilt energon sucked at his feet and, if it weren't for the metal body parts, he would have thought he was walking through a muddy swamp.

Astrotrain's eyes were wide with awe and a hint of fear, and he took a hesitant step back from the flier.

"You're some fighter," he remarked, averting his optics.

"Those autobots were weak, nothing like the warriors I am used to," Dreadwing answered, heading back in the direction of Megatron, hoping to get some answers as to where he was.

Astrotrain ran to catch up with Dreadwing, "You're not going to want to get between Megatron and Optimus."  
"Rest assured; I do not plan to."

Dreadwing left out that he was hoping to watch Megatron perish at the hands of his oldest enemy, and if the opposite occurred, he would eliminate the silver mech himself. He was already dead, and therefore had nothing left to lose. The sight that appeared before him, however, was unexpected; both leaders had fallen. Optimus was hunched over, clutching at a painful looking wound, while Megatron lay in a sparking heap.

A red, blue, and white winged mech approached their fallen master and said, "How do you feel mighty Megatron?"

He then proceeded to violently kick Megatron before arrogantly leaving him to leak from his wounds. Dreadwing despised this decepticon immediately, and there was something strangely familiar about him, although he could not place him.

"Astrotrain! Transform and get us out of here!" the winged bot continued. Astrotrain scrambled to obey the command given, and Dreadwing lost a little respect for his new friend for following such a bot.

"Soundwave, don't leave me," Megatron said weakly.

Dreadwing whipped his head back and forth, searching to the slender mech, until a boxy blue mech approached their leader and, with an electronic-infused voice, said, "As you command, Lord Megatron."

"_That's_ Soundwave?" Dreadwing was dubious.

"It's like you've been in stasis for the entire war," a garish green-and-purple mech came up beside him; one of the six bots that had formed the gigantic bot from before.

"Sometimes it feels that way," Dreadwing responded before following the mass of decepticons filing into the back of the purple train.

Given Astrotrain's reaction to his massacre before, Dreadwing decided it was best to keep to the shadows and simply observe. He took his place behind the group of combiners. The last bots to board were Soundwave with Megatron draped over his arms, and the smug bot from before.

"Astrotrain, take off!" he commanded.

_Take off?_ Dreadwing grew worried as Astrotrain picked up speed—he was a train; he couldn't fly! Metal shifted around them and the ground disappeared from below Astrotrain. Dreadwing shut his optics and braced himself for impact, but instead he felt the train ascend into the sky. Peering out the tiny window, Dreadwing found that his friend had sprouted wings, and, although it better explained his bot form, but he had never heard of a cybertronian capable of two vehicle modes. Dreadwing wanted to ask someone how this was possible, but his need to stay anonymous overpowered such an urge.

The Earth shrank below the decepticons, and the sky darkened around the ship until stars were visible. Dreadwing wondered where they were headed, and could only hope he would not be singled out until they arrived. Fortunately, Astrotrain was nearly bursting at the seams with decepticons, lowering his chances of being spotted.

"Jettison some weight or I'll never make it to Cybertron," Astrotrain's voice echoed around his passengers.

"Fellow decepticons," the bossy winged bot began, "Astrotrain has requested that we lighten our burden." His high-pitched voice hurt Dreadwing's audio receptors, and he had to fight the urge to silence him.

"Then I say it is survival of the fittest!" one of the combiners spoke up.

The arrogant bot smirked, clearly betting on this opinion, "Do I hear a second on that?"

A majority of the 'cons raised their fists and claimed "Aye!" and, when prompted, the heavily wounded bots let out a weak, "Nay," and the undamaged and functioning bots wasted no time in forcing the wounded out through the open door. Dreadwing was disgusted; he understood letting the dead go, although he wished they could have a proper burial, but how could the decepticons abandon those that were still alive and had a chance at survival? These were not the decepticons that Dreadwing had signed up for.

"Oh how it pains me to do this," the irritating voice piped up from the mass of bots, and Dreadwing was forced to creep forward to see what was going on.

He saw the despicable bot holding the limp figure of Megatron in his arms, who let out a feeble moan and said, "Wait, I still function."

Smirking, the mech responded, "Wanna bet?" and released his master, sending him hurtling towards the stars below.

"Starscream!" Megatron shouted before his voice was lost to the vacuum of space.

Rage boiled inside Dreadwing at that name, and the anger muffled his hearing so he missed a part of the conversation. Evidently, an important part, for the mechs around him had all broken out into a fight; over what Dreadwing could not know. What he did know was that _this_ Starscream would pay for his crimes, and he would enjoy watching the spark fading from his soulless eyes.


	2. The Coronation

The Coronation

"You're not going to attend the coronation?" Astrotrain exclaimed, seeming more shocked at Dreadwing's refusal then at his slaughter from the previous battle.

"I refuse to follow such a mech," Dreadwing replied decidedly, not looking up from the energon cube he was nursing.

"Megatron _chose_ Starscream as his second-in-command," Astrotrain gently reminded him, "This is what he would have wanted."

Dreadwing tensed and set down his energon cube before setting his unwavering red optics on his friend.

"Did Megatron_ want_ to be jettisoned into space when he was still alive? Would he have _wanted_ Starscream to claim leadership mere moments after he had left him for dead? Would he have _wanted_ such an overzealous ceremony for himself, or any decepticon?" Dreadwing stood and towered over the grey mech, emphasizing his words.

"Well…" Astrotrain trailed off, at a loss for words.

"You know as well as I do that Starscream will make a poor leader at best. We should have stopped him from abandoning our leader; we need Megatron now more than ever," Dreadwing's voice softened wistfully. He backed away from his comrade, wondering why he felt loyalty even after his beloved leader had killed him. He had chosen the traitorous Starscream over his most devoted warrior, and this knowledge hurt more than the shot that had ripped through his chest. He would have his revenge, but only after Starscream's coronation; after he felt like he had triumphed.

Astrotrain fidgeted uncomfortably until the trumpets sounded, indicating the start of the ceremony. The triple-changer awkwardly ambled away without another word, but Dreadwing barely noticed his absence. It was not his goal in life, or whatever this could be called, to make friends. However, it seemed as if he was destined to do just that.

"Dreadwing," a deep voice addressed him from the shadows.

Dreadwing whipped himself around and found an eerily familiar set of orange eyes greeting him. While the flier knew he was in a public place, he was still shocked to see another bot here; he assumed he was the only one not attending the coronation.

"That depends on who is asking," he replied with an edge of wariness.

The mysterious bot laughed, deep and heartily, before responding, "As untrusting as always."

"Do I know you?" Dreadwing crossed his arms.

"In a past life, yes."

Dreadwing stared at the hidden bot suspiciously. He demanded, "Show yourself."

The orange optics took on a mischievous glint, but the mech complied, and the dim light of the room revealed a white and blue bot with a garish orange face. Dreadwing was still unable to identify the new mech, but the familiarity of the stranger nagged annoyingly in the back of his mind. The grounder seemed slightly hurt that Dreadwing did not immediately recognize him.

"How has Knockout been?" the bot said, getting choked up at the mention of the decepticon medic.

Realization hit Dreadwing like a wrecking ball, "Breakdown?"

Knockout's former assistant chuckled, shaking off the emptiness he felt at the lack of his partner. "Yeah it's me, hard to believe, my vehicle mode is a sports car of all things—I'm more like Knockout than ever before. I could change it, but I feel closer to him this way."

Dreadwing thought about how this world, whatever it was, had its own Megatron, Optimus, and even Starscream, and after sitting down said, "Is there not a Knockout here?"

Breakdown's eyes darkened and he followed suit, sitting in the seat next to Dreadwing's, "Of course," he began, "But he's… different. They all are—until they die that is, in our world. I've been reunited with my fair share of old comrades who died during the war."

Dreadwing's spark quickened, "My twin?"

The white and blue mech took on a sympathetic look, "He's the only one who isn't himself."

"Starscream," Dreadwing stated, clenching his fists.

"He's even more unbearable in this universe," Breakdown agreed, "That's why I am not at his coronation, that, and the fact that he's a pain in the aft."

The grounder smiled, attempting to entice a laugh out of Dreadwing, but he remained as stoic as ever; all thoughts trained on the termination of their new leader. As if on cue, the thunderous cheers of the decepticon fold announced the successful coronation of their new leader. All of the flier's senses heightened at the sound; he prepared himself mentally to murder Starscream, knowing there would be many bots thirsting for his spark once the job was done, either from loyalty to Starscream or loyalty to the decepticon leader.

"I have got to go," Dreadwing dismissed Breakdown.

Breakdown raised an eyebrow, but did not question the blue flier. Dreadwing marched in the direction of the ceremony, but before he had even made it down the steps, he was confronted by Astrotrain.

"Dreadwing, you'll never believe it—Starscream is dead!" he huffed between deep ex-ventilations.

The flier's crimson optics widened in shock and a wave of disappointment washed over him. Someone had done his dirty work for him, and yet he had felt entitled to kill Starscream; the skinny mech had ruined his and his brother's life. He felt as though another mech had taken his last chance for revenge.

"Who did it?" Breakdown asked before Dreadwing could, coming down the stairs to meet the two other mechs.

"Galvatron," Astrotrain replied as if it should be obvious.

Breakdown and Dreadwing exchanged a look which told the flier that the veteran of the two knew nothing of this new bot.

"He's the new decepticon leader," Astrotrain went on, "He's brought with him other new decepticons as well and they all seem pretty powerful."

"And you just let this happen?" Dreadwing was incredulous; did anyone in this world have a backbone?

"What could any of us have done? Galvatron vaporized Starscream with a single shot! And he was ready to do the same to any of us, except maybe Cyclonus, but I doubt he would ever question Galvatron's word," Astrotrain defended.

"Who's Cyclonus?" Breakdown chimed in.

"My best guess is he's Galvatron's second-in-command."

Dreadwing grew tired of this gossipy conversation, so he pushed past Astrotrain and continued on his trek to the grandstand. Astrotrain called after him, but he ignored his pleas to stop.

Walking down the streets of Cybertron was comforting and yet unnerving all at the same time. _His_ Cybertron had been dark for centuries because of the war, and, while there was still a war here, it was tame in comparison; both autobots and decepticons lived in small factions upon this planet. While the decepticons undoubtedly had main control of their home world, it was no secret that autobots still held resistance in cities like Iacon.

Dreadwing was the only bot wandering through Kaon; every other decepticon had probably shut themselves in after such a tumultuous inauguration, fearing for their sparks. Dreadwing had no use for such emotions anymore; every bot he had encountered had been utterly underpowered and he was not sure if it was even possible for him to be killed here.

Since he had been so lost in thought, the walk had taken little time and he found himself before a grand stage. Golden statues of fallen decepticon warriors rose up around him leading up to a small set of stairs. Dreadwing took cautious steps toward the staircase, which was littered with ashes, presumably Starscream's. A crumpled piece of gold inlayed with rubies lay at its base, and upon further inspection he found it to be the remnants of a crown. Dreadwing was disgusted by Starscream's audacity to declare himself royalty.

If the masses had scattered without even cleaning Starscream's remains, then Galvatron was more formidable than he imagined. That, or no one cared for the seeker enough to scatter his ashes in a respectful place. Dreadwing sneered down at the former decepticon, feeling nothing but contempt. He had gotten what he deserved, albeit not in the way he had hoped.

"And just who might you be?" a deep voice from behind him questioned.

Dreadwing turned around slowly to find violet decepticon with crossed arms gazing at him with stern optics. He had small wings that jutted out from his back and fins on his forearms; a flier. His helmet had two sizable horns that were likely for flair rather than function, but they gave him an air or importance.

Dreadwing hated to admit to himself that he was struck speechless; he had never laid eyes upon a more beautiful mech. He did not know who he was, but he would do anything to find out.

"Well?" the mech prompted.


	3. Dance with Me

Dance with Me

Dreadwing found his voice and composed himself before speaking, "Dreadwing," he told the lavender mech before him, "And you?"

From the look the stranger gave him, he surmised that he had overstepped his authority, but he answered, albeit haughtily, "Cyclonus."

Dreadwing stiffened. So the formidable figure before him was Galvatron's right-hand mech. Coolant stirred uncomfortably inside the blue mech; his feelings were utterly conflicted. On one servo he felt an unusual attraction to the flier, even when he knew nothing about him, and on the other servo he felt contempt for anyone associated with the decepticon who took his last chance at revenge. The memory of his departed brother, left to wander in some nether realm for eternity, added to his awkward emotions and brought a grimace to his faceplate.

Cyclonus stared at Dreadwing, but his face gave away nothing. The blue mech found him to be like a statue, as if he had been carved from stone rather than forged from metal. His self-control was admirable; it was no wonder as to why Galvatron had chosen him to be his successor.

"What is your purpose here?" Cyclonus broke the blue flier out of his musing and emotional trauma, and Dreadwing realized that he did not have a ready excuse for being here long after the coronation, or lack thereof, had ended. Thankfully, his sharp mind saved him.

"I received some incorrect information as to when the coronation was to begin," he lied, "I see that it has long since ended."

"So you have not heard the news yet?"

"News?" Dreadwing continued his façade.

"Galvatron has taken the responsibility of leading the decepticons," Cyclonus informed him, and Dreadwing took notice that the commander left out Starscream's death, "A ball is being held for our mighty new leader in just a few cycles. I think I should personally escort you so you won't show up late twice in one solar cycle."

At this, the violet mech put one servo behind his back and allowed the other to gesture back towards Kaon, bowing slightly. Dreadwing found himself somewhat intimidated by the flier; after all, anything he said to him could be relayed to Galvatron.

"What of Starscream?" Dreadwing attempted to get answers.

"He has been relieved of his post," Cyclonus grew visibly agitated from Dreadwing's questions.

Silence stretched out for an uncomfortable amount of time between the two mechs; neither willing to break eye contact. If it weren't for the decepticon brands on both of their chests, Dreadwing would have drawn a weapon and initiate battle. Of course, had Cyclonus been on the opposing team, the blue flier would still have felt some sadness at terminating him. He was sleek, refined, and so unlike any decepticon he had encountered before. He reminded him of himself before Megatron had betrayed him; loyal and honourable. He had to stop himself from letting his admiration get the best of him.

"I will see you at the ball," Cyclonus announced. It was an order, not a request, and the blue flier inwardly groaned at having to pretend to be happy at such an event. The lavender mech then transformed, assuming a cybertronian jet. In the moment where he was idle before firing his thrusters and taking off, Dreadwing studied him. His vehicle mode was even sleeker than he had expected; rounded edges giving him an extremely aerodynamic look.

Once Cyclonus' figure became little more than a speck in the distance, Dreadwing transformed and headed back to where he had left Breakdown and Astrotrain. The streets were quiet; everyone was already at the ball, but Dreadwing was not going unless he was sure one of his friends was there so that he would not have to make small talk with anyone. Landing gracefully at the foot of the steps leading to the café, the blue flier assumed his bot mode and ascended. Upon entering, he was not surprised to see only the blue-and-white grounder nursing a glass of energon.

"Are you not attending the ball?" Dreadwing asked.

"I thought you wouldn't want to go," Breakdown answered.

_I don't_, Dreadwing thought, but he said, "I have to. I ran into Cyclonus at the grandstand."

"Bad luck. Want me to come with you?"

Dreadwing was glad that he offered, because he wasn't about to beg the grounder to come along. He nodded in assent and they made their way to the building that housed the ball. It was a little slower going than the flier would have liked, having to follow the twisting roads instead of travelling over the buildings and flying straight there. He didn't mind though, the less time he had to spend at the event the better, and travelling with the grounder meant he had a viable excuse.

It was easy enough to find the location; the sky was lit up with search lights that doubled as security should the autobots attempt an attack, but so many of them had been chased off-world that this outcome was unlikely.

The two mechs transformed near the entrance and before them was a pair of large doors adorned with intricate gold markings. Unfortunately, the beauty of the building was tainted with banners and screens, all reading "Hail Galvatron" with his face beside it. Some looked as though they had been changed quickly, no doubt to cover up Starscream's name and image.

The whole affair seemed unnecessary to Dreadwing; Megatron received nothing but the recognition of his leadership, which was how it should be. The decepticons were fighting a war and they thought a celebration was needed, when they should have been mourning the loss of the warriors that died in battle. Megatron had not even had a proper memorial.

Dreadwing clenched his fists in disgust for a moment, but pushed his feelings aside before following Breakdown inside. The ballroom was already packed with decepticons; some already over energized, but most were in pairs or groups on the dance floor. There was a space made in the middle where Galvatron was waltzing with Soundwave. The Constructicons were having a drinking contest and a group of seekers with horrible rhythm were dancing, if you could call it that. Cyclonus was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Breakdown!" a voice called from the crowd. A group of bots were waving the grounder down.

"That's Motormaster," Breakdown explained to Dreadwing, "Apparently he's the leader of this group that I'm a part of—the Stunticons."

One of the Stunticons, a red mech, came over and took Breakdown's arm, leading him away from the blue flier.

"I'll see you later!" Breakdown called as he was dragged away.

Left to his own devices, Dreadwing grabbed a glass of energon and surveyed the room. Galvatron and Soundwave had left the dance floor and were now sitting on a bench at the side of the room, deep in conversation. It was probably very one-sided; even with a voice Soundwave only said what was necessary. Galvatron did not seem to mind, prattling on about himself. Many mechs were glaring at Soundwave, jealousy alight in their optics; they wished they were in his position and had the favour of their leader. One of the Constructicons had lost the competition; he was sprawled on the floor while the rest laughed at him. Most of the other partygoers were still dancing or watching everyone else, as he was.

"So you showed," a familiar voice stated beside him.

Dreadwing turned to look, and was not surprised to find Cyclonus leaning against the wall beside him. He forced his ventilations to calm before he spoke, but he could not stop his spark from racing.

"Of course," the blue mech stated simply.

Cyclonus' optics focused on Dreadwing, but he kept his head forward, "Do you dance?"

The blue flier's faceplate warmed. Cyclonus smirked and took Dreadwing's hand, leading him into the throng of bots. Finding a space, he pulled his partner close and rested his other hand on Dreadwing's shoulder. A shocked Dreadwing found his servo on Cyclonus' waist before the violet mech lead his companion in a waltz.

Being this close to him, Dreadwing realized that Cyclonus was nearly a head shorter than himself, making him seem much less formidable than before—cute even. He would have been swept up in the moment, if it weren't for the fact that his partner was leading. Taking charge, he swung Cyclonus out into a spin. The surprise on his face made him cuter in Dreadwing's eyes, but the look of challenge that replaced it when he twirled him back in was sexy.

"So you do dance," Cyclonus teased the bigger mech, taking control once more and whisking Dreadwing around and around, until he grew dizzy. Cyclonus slowed their movement until they were swaying slowly back and forth, allowing his partner to get his bearings. Once his optics became focused, Cyclonus began a series of complex dance steps which forced his partner to back up. The delight at having control was apparent on the lavender flier's face; Dreadwing got a close-up of it when Cyclonus dipped him, bringing them face-to-face.

"I _always_ lead," he whispered commandingly, lips just inches from his companion's.

Unfortunately, due to his height, Cyclonus was unable to fully dip Dreadwing, and the blue mech knew he could use that to his advantage. After the violet flier had righted him, Dreadwing took charge and spun his partner out again, this time spinning him back in so his back was to him.

"So do I," Dreadwing teased, lowering his head to speak directly into his audio receptors, "But I'm bigger."

He twirled the winged mech around so they were facing once more, and held him tight so he could not take control again. While Cyclonus was initially agitated, he soon succumbed to the comfort of being in his arms. They rocked along to the music, barely aware of the bots around them, and for the first time in years, Dreadwing felt calm. He forgot about the war, about his leader's betrayal, he even forgot about Skyquake. Overwhelmed with emotion, he drew Cyclonus into a proper dip, his strong arms capable of holding the flier for cycles. However, he only needed this moment; his lavender faceplate flushed, his lips practically begging to be kissed. He wasn't about to deprive the commander, so he leaned down until their lips were barely touching, reveling in the feel of his partner's ventilations. Cyclonus was not quite as patient, pressing his mouth against Dreadwing's.

"Cyclonus!" a gruff mech roared.

Dreadwing stiffened while Cyclonus scrambled to upright himself, landing hard on the floor in the process. The blue mech helped him to his pedes, but the commander pushed his servos away. A stab of rejection pierced Dreadwing, but he forced his face into composure, for their newly appointed leader stood before them.

"We have affairs to attend to," Galvatron growled at his second-in-command before stalking through the crowd, expecting his loyal warrior to follow him.

"Yes, Mighty Galvatron," Cyclonus said to his retreating figure. He followed his leader, but not before giving Dreadwing an apologetic glance.

The ballroom doors shut behind the commanding officers, and the rest of the partygoers continued on as if nothing had happened. Dreadwing wished he could do the same, but his arms felt empty and his spark grew heavy once more. It was as if Cyclonus had lifted the flier's burden. The lavender mech had made him forget, and reality had come crashing back down. The need for revenge was free to fester once more, only now it had a new target. The mech who took his original chance at vengeance, the mech that was now stealing his last chance at happiness, the mech who he was never going to swear allegiance to; Galvatron.


	4. Inner Demons

Inner Demons

Dreadwing stormed out of the ballroom, revenge and longing stirring uncomfortably inside of him. All he could think about was the need to feel his sword cut into Galvatron's plating, to hear his last words, and to see his body fall limp on the ground in front of him. He could practically smell the spilt energon in the air. The feeling of closure washed over Dreadwing just before Cyclonus' grief-stricken face wormed its way into his fantasy. Guilt now nagged at his spark; his dance partner was obviously fiercely loyal to their new leader.

Dreadwing fell to his knees and clutched at his helm. He wished he could banish these conflicted feelings, but they were persistent. Grief for his twin brought itself to the forefront of his mind and only caused further turmoil. He tried to calm himself down; after all, he had only been interrupted from dancing with someone, but there was dark voice speaking to him from within. This voice had appeared upon learning of the fate of his brother and spoke up during similar circumstances. It thirsted for the energon of his foes and prompted Dreadwing to follow through with his murderous thoughts. His mental battle between slaying Galvatron and being with Cyclonus threatened to overwhelm him.

The blue mech bellowed at the sky. It did not suffice to fully alleviate his anguish, but it lessened the throbbing pain pounding inside head. He focused on the tiny clouds appearing before his faceplate from his ragged ventilations until they steadied to a normal rate. The voice had lost this round, but it was becoming harder to snuff as the cycles wore on. One day it would win.

Dreadwing had not noticed the white noise fizzing in his audials until Breakdown was crouched down in front of him. The grounder's mouth was moving but only static reached through the veil.

"What?" Dreadwing asked in a daze, shaking his helm.

All at once the sounds of the world returned. The flier heard the muffled sounds of music and conversation and general city noise. A moment later Breakdown repeated, "Are you okay?"

Dreadwing quickly composed himself and stood up. He managed to spit out, "Of course," but he turned away from the blue-and-white mech to hide any lingering emotion he might be showing.

"I saw you leave and when I came out here you were yelling…"

"I am quite aware of what I was doing," Dreadwing shot back while keeping his back to Breakdown.

What must have been awkward silence to the grounder stretched out between the two Decepticons. From the slight creak of the other bots' joints, Dreadwing could tell that Breakdown was fidgeting, and in bad need of an oiling.

"Probably too much energon," the grounder answered himself. He then proceeded to shuffle back inside and leave the flier to his own devices.

Dreadwing was relieved to be left alone. He had always preferred solitude. His twin had been the only companion he preferred over himself. Now even he was beginning to resent being alone with himself, because he was never alone anymore. It was as if a part of his mind had become sentient. It was something that was beyond his control. That was why it scared him; Dreadwing needed control over _something_ in his life and the one thing factor he was always able to predict was his own movements. He had become a stranger to himself.

He looked up at the sky, up at Luna 1 and Luna 2 hanging like miniature Cybertrons in the pitch sky. Seeing the moons made him want to join their contentedness in the sky. It took mere seconds to rise above the city skyline and to have the air caressing his wings. It was always exhilarating to experience the sensation of flight and Dreadwing hoped that he would never grow accustom to the weightlessness and speed. In the air he focused on his thrusters and his proximity to the structures around him and his troubles faded away. It was not unlike the rush he got when he was with Cyclonus.

Below him Cybertron passed by in a blur, looking totally unscathed. It looked nothing like the Cybertron that he had come to know. Kaon was not falling apart and what should have been the Sea of Rust was bustling with nightlife. Had Dreadwing not appeared in the thick of the fighting, he wouldn't believe that a war was waging at all.

Here, no one lived in constant fear of losing their spark—they practically lived in peace, with time to host frivolous affairs. Dreadwing had become so accustom to war that he forgot what peace felt like and it felt wrong to enjoy life now. He truly believed that this war would never end. If it did end, what would everyone do? All anyone knew how to do anymore was fight. Even flying felt too tranquil. The air was clean and free of the rust tainting his Cybertron, and the toxic fumes of Earth's atmosphere were just a bad memory.

Moreover, the battles were nothing like he was used to. The Decepticons were not the ruthless killers he had known them to be, and the Autobots barely put up a fight. Their blaster fire would fail to penetrate even the thinnest armor and the warriors' only other weapons appeared to be their fists. He would only use weapons forged here; it would not be honourable to take life when the other being was practically defenseless. It would also keep Galvatron's suspicions at bay. He had to remain unnoticed if he was to follow through with his plan.

With the voice banished from his thoughts, he felt the need to return and explain himself to Breakdown. He also needed the grounder to show him to his quarters. He should be more grateful to him. After all, he would be lost without his guidance. He admired him for traversing this strange place without anyone else's help.

Retracing his flight pattern and using the search lights for guidance, he managed to find his way back to the ballroom. The party was still underway when he returned. If anything it had increased in rowdiness. By now, the crowd had leaked outside. Many over-energized 'cons were being led by slightly less over-energized mechs outside to get some fresh air. Couples had retreated to get some privacy and a handful of partygoers had simply passed out.

He landed gracefully before the double doors. Inside, the lights had been dimmed and colourful and bright white beams bounced around the room, reflecting off the throng of chassis. The ballroom had become more like a night club, presumably after the commanding officers had left. The majority of the banners hanging before had been knocked to the floor and trampled upon and the waltz music had turned into songs with a thumping base. Dreadwing scanned the room, but it was impossible to distinguish one bot from the other in the gloom.

Moving further inside, he got a better look at individual faces. For the most part, they all looked grey with red optics, but none baring Breakdown's signature orange colour. Many were contorted with ecstasy, practically fragging on the dance floor. No one around them seemed to mind, but this display greatly disturbed Dreadwing. The temperature of his plating skyrocketed and his fans kicked in. He was truly out of his element now. The aerial bolted outside, grateful for the cool air that caressed his overheating frame. He picked an empty spot on the wall and watched the drunken antics of his compatriots.

The Constructicons in particular were quite amusing. Presently, the group of six was attempting to form Devastator, but with Mixmaster unconscious the crudely formed super soldier lacked a leg and fell over. The remainder of the team picked themselves up and scratched their helms, not able to figure out why they were failing.

"Hey Motormaster, we doin' this or not?" Scrapper drawled out.

A large black mech called in response, "Even if your team members were sober enough to merge, half of the Stunticons are still inside."

Dreadwing perked up at the mention of the Stunticons because Breakdown would not be far behind his leader. Unfortunately, the two grounders with Motormaster were yellow and red.

"Get them out here. We're doing this," Long Haul slurred, shifting between his piece of Devastator and robot mode while doing so.

Motormaster rolled his optics before yelling into the mad house, "Wildrider! Breakdown! Get your afts out here!"

"We're coming chief," a black grounder replied, whom Dreadwing assumed was Wildrider. Breakdown had draped himself over the other Stunticon, blithering and kissing him in his drunken state.

"But I think Breaky here is going to be as useful as Mixmaster right now," Wildrider continued. In response, the blue-and-white grounder put his mouth to his companion's, practically slobbering on him. He broke away to say, "I love you, man."

Gently prying the other 'con off of him, he murmured, "I know you do, now let's get you to the berth."

Breakdown smiled blissfully and hugged Wildrider's arm, nuzzling it affectionately.

To Motormaster, the black grounder said: "I'll get him home." Wildrider continued to lead Breakdown away. Dreadwing hurried to catch up so he would not lose the pair.

"I'm a new recruit," he explained to the Stunticon upon reaching them, "Breakdown said that I could room with him."

The grounder eyed him suspiciously. "An aerial? Rooming with the Stunticons? Yeah right. Go find the coneheads."

"Who are the coneheads?" he asked. Dreadwing hated not knowing all of the answers, or any for that matter. Decepticons were not known for their reliability or their helpfulness.

"Ugh," Wildrider sighed, "Just follow me. And I don't do chitchat."

_Fine by me_, Dreadwing thought. The Decepticon barracks turned out to be not far from the ballroom and it wasn't long before Wildrider was gesturing to a room already cramped with a range of flyers in recharge.

He picked his way between occupied berths and nearly tripped over a mech who hadn't made it to his. Finding one that did not appear to be occupied, he lay down and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

"Wake up, newbie!" a voice shocked Dreadwing out of his recharge and he found himself suspended in the arms of a half dozen of his comrades with at least two dozen more standing by watching. Below was a giant chasm that seemed to go down forever.

Before he had time to think, Dreadwing was thrown forward into the abyss, a shout escaping his throat. He tumbled down, fear temporarily stalling his t-cog. His wings and plating flapped uselessly before his biotech painfully activated and he assumed his jet form.

The flier fired his thruster and raced toward the sliver of light above. Ascending over the cliff, he returned to robot mode, landing heavily on the ground, and unsheathed his sword. In a rage, he swung his blade around wildly and the other aerials dodged out of the way.

A multitude of his systems were sending warnings to his display which only served to further blind him. He was yelling at no one in particular and swinging in confusion, aiming for nothing and hitting nothing.

Dreadwing's energon control computer malfunctioned from the stress and the flow of energon was cut to his brain and limbs, ultimately shutting him down. A rush of coolant cooled his frame and quelled the incessant warning beeps. The formidable mech fell to one knee while his body rebooted his systems. His rage has dissipated, but it took a good length of time to silence the voice screaming for their heads.

"Uh sorry man," a red aerial said to him, not daring to get anywhere near him, "Most bots just get a little startled."

"Are you _glitched_?" Dreadwing snarled, "What could have made you think that any of this was a good idea?"  
"It's just our initiation," another flier explained, "And we've only lost one guy."

Dreadwing was infuriated, "You _only_ lost one?! If any of you had one _iota _of sense you would see how brainless this is! And to think you lost one of your own and continued on with your childish game!"

A blue 'con with yellow wings on either calf spoke up defiantly, "It's not our fault he clipped his wing. If you want to be a Decepticon you have to be able to fly."

Dreadwing roared and launched himself at the uncaring mech, tackling him to the ground and pummeling him with clenched fists. He allowed his inner demon full reign and channeled all of his pent up aggression into rearranging his plating. His faceplate was already slick with energon and his chest plating was concave with dents. In his madness, Dreadwing used his unnatural strength to grasp one of his wings and tear it off.

A spurt of warm blue liquid hit him before a similarly framed white aerial shoved Dreadwing away from his victim. "Are you _crazy_?" he said then, turning back to his friend, "Dirge? Dirge! Don't you dare die on me!"

"What is going on here?" a deep and commanding voice boomed overhead. All optics turned to the sky and discovered Galvatron's first lieutenant passing overhead. Cyclonus transformed and landed between the severely damaged Dirge and the energon covered Dreadwing. He was still shaking with anger, but the sight of the commander had snapped him out of his murderous rampage.

Anyone not directly involved with either bot in the fight quickly fled the scene, leaving only two other bots ensuring Dirge's safety. Cyclonus let them leave without even a glance, assessing the situation he had intruded upon. His optics grazed over the conehead's body, flinching slightly when he saw his severed wing.

"Send a medic to my coordinates," the violet mech ordered into his commlink. To the other fliers in his presence, "Talking to him isn't going to stop the leaking, put pressure on the wound."

Cyclonus stood, still and silent, until the medbots arrived. They informed Dirge and his friends that he would live, but would be berth ridden until he was healed. Dirge was carried off in an emergency vehicle and the other two fliers followed in the air.

Dreadwing felt Cyclonus' disapproval more than he saw it, and when he fixed his cold red optics on him, he wished he had perished in the chasm.

"You seemed like a reasonable mech," he said. Those words drove daggers into Dreadwing's plating. "This kind of behavior is _not_ tolerated in the Decepticon folds."

The blue flier shrank away inside, but the lowering of his head was his only outward shame. He stared at the ground guiltily through squinted eyes and cursed himself for letting his emotions get the best of him. Trying to scrap another flyer he disliked was how he had ended up here in the first place. Both of them had deserved to join with the Allspark, but he assumed that his commanding officer here would be as uncaring as his previous leader.

"However," he continued, "I find your company tolerable and refuse to believe that this attack was unprovoked. Explain."

Dreadwing slowly raised his head. There wasn't a trace of affection from the night before left in his eyes.

"The other flyers appear to have some sort of initiation for new recruits," Dreadwing began. The commander raised an eyebrow ridge, but said nothing. "They take flyers from their berths and wake them up before tossing them over the edge of that cliff. Someone has _died _from this."

The violet mech closed his optics for a few moments, as if he was mourning the aerial who had perished.

"Dirge had no respect for his fallen comrade, even blaming him for not being able to fly properly. I admit that I overreacted and that I should not have attacked him. I let my emotions get the best of me. It won't happen again." Dreadwing now stood with his head high. He was not proud of his actions, but he would not cower in the face of judgment.

Cyclonus now looked his comrade over, quietly assessing his decision. Dreadwing held his gaze but did not challenge.

"You have a lot of respect for those who have passed," the commander mused, "But you also have to remember that they are dead and are of no use to the Decepticon cause. We must focus on those who still function so that we may avenge the lives lost in this war. Without camaraderie we will destroy our cause from within before ever having a chance to fight for what we believe.

"I will personally speak to the rest of the flyers to ensure this never happens again, but you must learn to control your temper. You are never going to agree with every Decepticon you meet."

Dreadwing waited for Cyclonus to continue, and when he was sure that his speech was over he said, "Understood, sir."

"You will also be assigned to another room to ensure no further outbursts occur." Dreadwing was relieved. He didn't think he would ever be welcomed there.

Cyclonus closed the small space between them until the blue aerial could reach out and touch him if he dared. Dreadwing watched him with a cool expression.

"One more thing," Cyclonus began, "I have been doing some research and found that there are no records to say that 'Dreadwing' ever existed."

Dreadwing's veins turned to ice and he groped in his mind for a good response. He started to panic when the mauve flyer took another step forward so that their faceplates almost touched. In his crimson optics, he saw distrust mixed with hurt, and in their depths swam a hint of longing.

At last he whispered, "Who are you?"


	5. My First

Author's Note: Sorry for wait, I've been sick and busy with school, but hopefully this chapter will give you what you've been waiting for. Enjoy!

My First

Dreadwing stared forward, glossa sitting uselessly in his mouth. Words swirled in his mind, unable to fathom them into coherent sentences. Small squeaks and blips escaped his vocalizer and his optics widened with the realization that he had been caught. He would never have a chance to climb his way up the ranks; his mission was over before it could begin.

Cyclonus leaned back and awaited an answer, optics narrowed with mistrust. He sighed when the blue mech before him failed to provide an answer. He turned away and stared down into the chasm. After what felt like vorns of silence he said, "Is Dreadwing your real name?"

"Yes," he managed to choke out.

"Are you an Autobot?"

Dreadwing was appalled that he would even ask such a thing, "Of course not! I am loyal to Lord Megatron!"

"_Galvatron_," Cyclonus reminded him, throwing a glare his way.

"Of course. Lord Galvatron," he corrected himself.

Cyclonus kept his steady gaze on the blue flier, clearly mulling something over. He folded his servos behind his back and lifted his chin, emphasizing his rank and reminding Dreadwing of his.

Feeling as if he had nothing to lose, Dreadwing spoke again, "Are you going to notify Galvatron?"

Cyclonus raised an optic ridge. Dreadwing was nothing more than a lowly soldier to the second-in-command. Worse, he had become untrustworthy in his eyes. He had hoped that their time together at the ball would still be on his mind, Primus knew the ex-commander would never forget that night, but now it seemed he was overstepping his place simply by asking him a question.

"Normally I would," Cyclonus admitted, "But Mighty Galvatron has a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. I may not know who you are or where you come from, but I have heard of your involvement in the last great battle with the Autobots. I was told that you fought with the ferocity of a true warrior, and with the current state of the Decepticon empire, we could use such warriors."

Dreadwing straightened up at the praise, but he knew that Cyclonus would be keeping a watchful eye on all of his actions from now on, which meant he had to learn to control his temper, lest Cyclonus see to his termination.

"I believe it would be best if you returned to your quarters until this situation blows over," Cyclonus recommended. "As I said before, you will be put in a new room to avoid any… complications. Follow me."

At that, the mauve flyer transformed, hovering in the air before Dreadwing, waiting for him to do the same. He obeyed the silent command and followed Cyclonus' ascent.

Dreadwing quickly learned that his commander's Cybertronian alt mode had much more power than his Earth-based aircraft. He accelerated to his maximum speed and still the violet jet pulled ahead.

Cyclonus pulled up and barrel rolled back until he was parallel with the other flier. "I knew that Earth's technology was inferior to ours, but this is pathetic."

"I did not take this shape by choice," Dreadwing defended himself.

Cyclonus grumbled and continued to fly around his companion, twirling and tumbling elegantly. An onlooker might think that he was having fun, but from the quiet sighs he was emitting it was obvious to Dreadwing that he was impatient.

The commander suddenly banked to the right and began his descent to the city below. Dreadwing was thankful for the reduction in speed and plunged toward the distant lights.

The two stoic Decepticons neared the ground and transformed, running for a few steps to rid themselves of the excess thrust. Dreadwing followed Cyclonus into the building adjacent to the barracks he had inhabited the night before. Much to Dreadwing's delight, the halls were quiet and peaceful and free of any delinquent fliers.

Cyclonus led him down a long hallway that was lined with coded doors. They had nearly reached the end of the hall when the first lieutenant halted and keyed in the code for the door. It promptly slid aside and Cyclonus gestured to Dreadwing to enter.

"I will be next door should you require assistance," the commander said to him through the doorway. Before Dreadwing could respond the door slid shut between them with a hiss.

_More likely to keep a close watch on me,_ Dreadwing thought bitterly. He realized that he was probably being monitored even now.

Looking around, he found himself in a larger than average room, most likely made for a high ranking officer. A large berth was situated in the far corner and facing the door was a desk with a computer. A large Decepticon symbol took up most of the wall that the berth was pushed against. Apart from that, the room was empty, and too large for Dreadwing's tastes; this was too much for one bot. The cramped room he had been in the night before had not been much larger.

With nothing but time, Dreadwing researched the Decepticon database to become more accustom to this new world. It was very similar to what he was used to, and he recognized many names in the Decepticon ranks. The biggest difference between the two was that Cybertron was still inhabitable.

Dreadwing passed the rest of the day uneventfully until drowsiness overtook him and he faded into deep stasis.

* * *

Dreadwing awoke to heavy ventilations and a heated frame pressing him into the berth. Both his servos were pinned down at his sides and foreign lips greeted him.

"Nghh!" Dreadwing struggled but his captor held him fast. He felt the other bot smile into the kiss and heard his engines rev suggestively. Dreadwing lashed out with a leg but in the dark only managed to graze the leg of whoever was on top of him.

"Calm yourself, Dreadwing," a deep voice breathed into his audials.

"Cyclonus?" Dreadwing was surprised and aroused in spite of himself. His cooling fans kicked in to try and dissipate the heat that was already rapidly gathering in his plating.

Cyclonus chuckled and nibbled at neck cables. He freed Dreadwing's hands in favour of placing a servo on Dreadwing's tapered waist and the other behind his head to kiss him again, more fervently. Dreadwing returned the kiss, mostly out of confusion than passion, wondering if he was in some bizarre dream.

It took Dreadwing's processor a few moments to realize that he had the use of his servos, and he used them to push Cyclonus away. Ex-ventilating deeply, he questioned the commander, "What are you doing?"

"I assumed that was obvious," he replied, moving in for another kiss. Dreadwing pushed him away again.

"We barely know each other," he argued, "You still don't know who I really am."

"I'm horny, you're hot, do the math," the commander explained in a very un-commander like way of speech. He reached over again and ran a servo over the inside of Dreadwing's thigh, satisfied with the hitch he created in his partner's cooling fans. "And it's clear that you want me. I saw it in your optics that night at the ball. You should be honoured that I even deigned to have you in my presence."

When Cyclonus tried to make a move Dreadwing leapt off of the berth, fully convinced that this was not a dream, and fumbled his way over to the light, which was harsh after the darkness. Dreadwing blinked while his optics adjusted and Cyclonus shielded his faceplate with an arm, gritting his denta together.

"What's your malfunction?" Cyclonus roared.

"With all due respect, sir," Dreadwing began, humiliated, "I do not think I would be able to… satisfy you."

Cyclonus squinted at the blue mech, "Surely you—" he looked him over, "—would have plenty of experience." Dreadwing remained silent. "You never?"

Dreadwing shrugged, embarrassment causing his faceplate to flush. It was the commander's turn to be surprised, and he awkwardly sat on the edge of the berth.

"It's not that I don't want to," Dreadwing explained uselessly, trying to tell Galvatron's first lieutenant that he was interested in him still.

"No," Cyclonus said, regaining his composure, "Your first time should be special, not from an overly charged mech looking for a quick frag in the night." Cyclonus chose this moment to make his leave, shuffling passed Dreadwing, who gazed after him longingly.

Still dazed and shocked from the whole event, Dreadwing returned to the berth. But, despite his lack of energy, he was unable to slip back into recharge. His field still buzzed, practically begging him to seek out Cyclonus and beg him to interface, but he knew that he had lost his chance. It seemed like Dreadwing would never have the commander, not in the way he wanted anyway.

His spark ached with loneliness. After losing his twin he never imagined that he would ever feel anything for another bot. The closest Dreadwing had ever gotten to showing affection was loyalty to Megatron, and he had been betrayed in that respect as well. He had not intended to get involved with Cyclonus, but it was impossible to ignore his allure.

Dreadwing stared at the ceiling, frustrated, and lay there until he finally dozed off, just as the sun's rays trickled in through the window.

* * *

Dreadwing had been awake for some time when he heard the soft rap at his door. He looked up from his research curiously. The sun was already setting and cast a box of orange upon the entrance to his quarters. Upon opening the door, the box molded itself to Cyclonus' frame, turning his plating to gold.

Cyclonus had an unsure smile on his face and he held a miniature model of a Cybertronian alt mode, which he promptly gave to Dreadwing. The blue flier took it in his servos, examining the silver trinket and enjoying the way it glimmered in the light of the sunset.

"What's this for?" he asked, optics shifting to the commander for a moment.

"It's a pathetic attempt at apologizing," Cyclonus said, "Do you like it?"

Dreadwing practically stroked the object, admiring it, "It will certainly brighten up the room," he commented, "It's a fine piece of craftsmanship."

"Come with me," Cyclonus stated. Dreadwing would have believed it was an order were it not for the grin gracing the first lieutenant's faceplate. Carefully placing his new bauble on the desk, he hurried to catch up with the mauve mech, all thoughts of past events replaced with an insatiable desire to know what Cyclonus had planned.

The commander's smile had been replaced by his usual scowl, but Dreadwing could tell it was to keep up appearances and did not reflect his current emotions. He was betrayed by the happy twitch of his wings and the hop in his step. He led his companion down a hallway that branched off from the main one and stopped at the end where and elevator was waiting. They travelled to the bunker, a huge room that expanded beneath the entirety of the Decepticon base. It was mostly empty, apart from the energon reserves stored there, as it was to be used if the Autobots were to launch a full scale assault.

Cyclonus switched on a light which illuminated a soft circle over a dark shape before him. Before him was a full size version of the model Cyclonus had given to Dreadwing mere minutes ago. Its curves and form were even more elegant when it was full sized. It was a bulky jet compared to most, and not unlike Dreadwing's alt mode in overall shape. The main difference between the two was the lack of human cockpit to disrupt the flow of the plating which was a deep and freshly waxed pitch.

"Well, what are you waiting for," Cyclonus interjected into Dreadwing's inspection, "Scan it."

"This is for me?" Dreadwing gasped.

"It is technically meant to be a drone to use to spy on the Autobots, but it will suffice for an alt mode, one that will be significantly faster than your current one," he added.

Dreadwing took a few steps toward the drone and scanned it, feeling his plating and internals shift as they took on their new form. His torso was now a smooth curve, and he was slightly disappointed that he was still dark blue rather than the black of the vehicle before him, but as beautiful as it was for an alt mode, Dreadwing knew that blue would suit him better.

"Care to try out your new wings?" Cyclonus asked. Not bothering to wait for an answer, he got back in the elevator and waited for Dreadwing to join him.

Once outside, Dreadwing transformed, cautiously firing his thrusters as he tested his new form. He pretended not to notice the sidelong glance Cyclonus gave him before he too transformed. The mauve jet accelerated rapidly into the sky and Dreadwing took off after him, glad that he was able to keep up with him now.

With Cyclonus flying parallel to him, he could admire him without fear of flying into anything, or fear of getting caught staring. The sun truly sparkled off of him and left the rest of his frame in deep shadow. One could hardly tell that his plating was actually lavender. The roar of his engine reverberated through the air and melded with Dreadwing's own, creating a symphony of noise in the otherwise still air. He had been so enraptured with the sight that he nearly flew into him when Cyclonus barrel rolled over the other flier. He revved his engines challengingly and Dreadwing smirked inwardly, welcoming the competition.

They flipped and twirled around each other in the air in some sort of aerial dance. It was a relief to be with Cyclonus without the fear of Galvatron bursting in on them again, and he let his many inhibitions go. He abandoned his dance partner, shooting straight up into the swiftly darkening sky, where faint stars welcomed him. He slowed his climb and allowed his engines to slow until gravity began to drag at his wingtips. He allowed himself to fall, hurtling to the metallic ground below, and pulled himself up when Cyclonus came into sight, curving under the commander's alt mode and coming up on the other side.

"I take it you're enjoying yourself," he commented when Dreadwing leveled off.

"It's wonderful," Dreadwing responded, "It's been so long that I had forgotten what true speed feels like."

"The Stunticons don't know what they're missing," Cyclonus commented.

The city disappeared beneath them to be replaced by expansive fields and a mountain range that expanded over the horizon as far as the optics could see. It was sights like this that made his spark ache for home, and yet, he _was_ home in a twisted way. This was Cybertron, the dead planet that his kind had spent eons fighting for, and here it was—practically thriving. This sight almost made dying worth it.

"I want to show you something," Cyclonus broke into Dreadwing's thoughts.

"I doubt it can rival the beauty of the Manganese Mountains," Dreadwing stated.

"Perhaps," the commander mused, "But I would like to show you nonetheless."

The two jets sloped down to the approaching ground, and Dreadwing spied their destination. It was a flat expanse near the summit that led to a sheer cliff that dropped down out of his line of sight. Cyclonus transformed and landed near the edge, while Dreadwing ensured there was plenty of space between himself and the drop. He may be a flier, but he did not want to risk another tumbling fall.

The commander was silhouetted against the twilight sky, staring out over the landscape. "The grounders can't come up here," he said, "And not many other fliers bother coming out here. We should be left alone."

Dreadwing's spark pounded in his chest, both from adrenaline and from Cyclonus' words. He was frozen to the spot and unsure of what to do next; he was never very adept with romance.

Cyclonus turned to face him, crimson optics steady and warm. "Come and see the view." Seeing the blue mech cautiously approach the edge he added, "I promise there will be no seekers to push you in."

Dreadwing was ashamed to have Cyclonus reassure him. He had to remind himself that he was a warrior and not a sparkling to be coddled. And yet, he knew that the commander did not mean what he said in a condescending way, he wanted him to feel safe. Joining the mauve flyer by the edge, Dreadwing looked out upon the scenery. The city stretched out to the horizon; thousands of twinkling lights recreating the night sky on the ground.

"Dreadwing," Cyclonus started. The blue mech tore his gaze away from the view, and was surprised with a kiss. The commander wrapped his arms around Dreadwing's neck, crushing their bodies together. Dreadwing was startled from the suddenness of his actions, but he allowed his servos to seek out Cyclonus' waist and kissed him back fervently, needing the affection more than he knew. Their lips parted, both of them ventilating deeply, staring into each other's optics.

"Why have you never interfaced before?" Cyclonus blatantly asked.

Dreadwing was caught off guard and broke out of their embrace. Cyclonus did not try to reconnect them.

"My twin…" he trailed off. He had never shared this with anyone before. "Since my twin Skyquake and I shared a split spark, it was as if I had already bonded with someone." Cyclonus listened intently. "He was terminated by the Autobots," bitterness filled his voice now, "Being so connected to someone; I never felt the need to get close to anyone else. And now… To be joined with another bot, even temporarily, I am not sure I could take losing someone else."

Cyclonus continued to stare at Dreadwing, optics dimmed in sympathy. He was either at a loss for words or maintaining his stoic demeanor. The bigger mech could feel the pulse of the commander's field, knowing that he was holding himself back for his sake. Dreadwing's own field was a crackling mess of static, practically begging Cyclonus to come closer.

"I've never really found anyone that I've wanted to interface with," he admitted further, seeing a flicker of lust cross the commander's face. "You intrigue me, and I admire your loyalty. I would be honoured to share the berth with you."

Cyclonus rushed forward and took either side of Dreadwing's helm in his servos, pressing their lips together. Their fields collided in a mess of static, sparks visibly jumping from their plating. Claws dug into seams and tiny moans were heard between kisses. The 'cons were brought to their knees with their plating thoroughly heated and their cooling fans whirring rapidly. Cyclonus' servos dropped to Dreadwing's shoulders, one daring to stroke the edge of the fins adorning them. The blue flyer sighed in response and deepened the kiss while simultaneously pulling the commander closer, wishing to meld them together.

Cyclonus swung them around and pressed his partner into the ground, straddling Dreadwing just below his wings. He rubbed the inside of his thigh against Dreadwing's, leaving a trail of energy in its wake. Dreadwing ground upwards with his pelvic plating and Cyclonus gripped his waist with one hand, encouraging his movements.

The commander trailed kisses down Dreadwing's neck to his torso, occasionally grazing his denta over the navy plating. He prodded at seams with his glossa and Dreadwing panted, throwing his arms above his helm and gripping at the ground beneath him.

Cyclonus kissed at Dreadwing's port, coaxing him to open it for him. Dreadwing complied and the commander wasted no time in plugging in. The initial charge hit Dreadwing hard and he gasped, sending a pitiful amount of energy in return. The mauve flier lessened the next charge, ridding himself of the excess electricity from his plating to his partner's.  
Dreadwing's energy was erratic, coming in massive bursts and small sparks, nearly guaranteeing a quick overload for both parties. Cyclonus gritted his denta at a particularly strong charge, on the edge of overload but forcing himself to hold on. "It's been a while since I've been with someone so wild," Cyclonus commented between ventilations.

Dreadwing didn't answer, vainly trying to control his pulses. Cyclonus had been steadily increasing his feed, each charge more pleasurable than the last. The ex-commander dug his claws into the cabling on his partner's back, dragging him down to further connect them. The blue flier wrapped his legs around Cyclonus possessively and gyrated his hips.

"Cyclo—" Dreadwing roared into the night, overloading hard. The surge of energy that he released pushed Cyclonus over the edge and he overloaded as well, kissing Dreadwing and moaning into his mouth. The maintained that position, both shaking violently. Cyclonus rolled off of Dreadwing, but took hold of his hand and squeezed lightly.

"So," Cyclonus huffed, "Was it worth it?"

Dreadwing nodded soundlessly. Cyclonus shifted until he was lying on his front, half on his companion. He rested one servo on his chest and took Dreadwing's servo in his other, interlocking their digits. Neither of them bothered to move and they easily fell into recharge. For the first time in vorns, Dreadwing was not bombarded with nightmares and when he awoke the next morning he smiled down at Cyclonus, who looked so peaceful. He lay staring at the sky while his partner stirred.


End file.
